Everything You Didn't Quiet Know About Aunt Marge
by Ellen Lily
Summary: Aunt Marge was only a little part of the Harry Potter series, but in the little we saw of her, we knew exactly what type of person she was. But are we sure we know everything? Yea, she's evil and mean, but exactly what don't we know? One shot about Vernon's and Marge's mom and the situation of Marge's conception.


**AN: I began writing this story having absolutely no idea where it was going to go. I started in on the premise that Aunt Marge was too mean to be completely human and matched up what little I knew about her with the Native American mythological creature, the Wendigo, which is usually depicted with a moose head, but sometimes has a wolf head. They are cannibalistic and usually soulless and sometimes affiliated with the full moon. Pretty much a perfect match for Marge. However it kind of spiraled out of control and I'm not sure what happened… So without future ado…**

**Everything You Didn't Quite Know About Aunt Marge**

Mrs. Dorothea Dursley wasn't exactly a saint. In fact, if her husband, Leighton Dursley, had possessed one iota of brain power, he would have realized that the conception dates for both their children didn't exactly add up. Considering that he'd been away on "business," also known as an excuse for golfing and drinking, for three weeks when her son, Vernon, was conceived, she was pretty sure he thought storks brought babies. Those three weeks had been the absolute best part of her marriage. She still wasn't sure which of the three men were Vernon's real father, but she assumed Aidan since he had ended up sleeping at her home for about three fifths of the time. Yes, that had been probably the best three weeks of her life, but the most exciting and terrifying night of her life would happen three years later for the conception of her daughter, Marjorie Dursley, or Marge for short.

Leighton had gone out to the bars that night, supposedly to meet a business partner. It was the full moon in the middle of January and ice covered the windows of the two story suburban home; snow wasn't falling at the moment but there was a deep drift in her front yard, present due to the fall the previous night. Her two year old son was asleep in bed and Dorothea was seated staring out into the fog when she noticed a dark silhouette slowly stalking down the street. The shape was too tall to be female and walked the walk of a confident male. As she watched the figure swung around and looked at her in the window like a dog that had caught a scent. The eyes glowed an unnatural blue. She let the curtain fall, but after a few seconds curiosity got the better of her and she peered out once again. He was gone. Just then there was a slight tapping at her front door.

She knew the last thing she should do was answer the door, she was after all alone in the house with her two year old son, but her curiosity got the better of her and she quickly tiptoed to the door and looked out the peep hole. A man who looked to be in his early thirties seemed to be staring at her through the door with his no longer glowing, but still electric blue eyes. He had short blond hair and strangely pointed ears and was wearing an expensive looking suit. His lips didn't seem to move, yet she heard a low growl speak the words "let me in." Before she even registered the command the door was opened by her own hand. He flashed a sharp toothed smile and she stumbled back a step. He kept his eyes trained on her as he stepped into her home and closed the door with a snap.

"Who are you?" she asked continuing to back away. He followed her until her back hit the closed door to the living room.

"That's probably not the question you should be asking," he replied pinning her against the door. He stuck his nose into her hair and began sniffing her; when he made it to her neck, he bit her, not hard enough to puncture her skin, but hard enough to make her yelp.

"What are you?" she asked quietly.

"Guess," he suggested biting her shoulder now. Her body jerked both in fear and a surprising amount of desire. Her mind spun at the confirmation that he wasn't normal. She went back to her childhood and the stories her older brother's would tell her to scare her.

"Are you a werewolf?" she asked but then yelped again because he had just bit her breast. She went to push at him, but his hands had pinned her wrists over her head before she could even tell he'd moved from her chest.

"If I were a werewolf, you would be dead already," he told her seeming to imply that she may be dead later. "Although, that's close enough. I'm a wendigo." She drew a blank; she didn't recognize the name. He chuckled darkly at her incomprehension and explained while his hands roved over her upper body and face. "A wendigo is much like a werewolf, but has control over when they change into their other form," he whispered into her ear like a lover her heart beat jumped slightly as his fingertip touched her bottom lip. "The moon has no control over us, yet we tend to _eat_ and mate when it is full." The way he said the word "eat" sent a chill up her spine. He nipped her ear hard and she jerked away.

"Eat what?" she asked suspiciously.

"Human flesh, of course." That's when the panic set in. She began to fight, lashing out at his face with her nails. "Now, now," he tsked while easily pinning her again, this time with her arms at her side, "I haven't quite decided what your use to me will be." He looked her over for a moment. "Either way," he mused and then proceeded to tear her dress from her body with one flick of the wrist.

She screamed, but then in an instant his hand was their smothering the sound and she was pressed into the carpet by his weight. He took in a deep breath through his nose and flashed his dangerous teeth one again. His hand still over her mouth, he brushed his lips over nose and then both of her cheeks. A whimper sounded muffled slightly by his palm.

"Close your eyes," he whispered and she did without thought. He removed his hand and then crushed his lips to hers. She tried to open her eyes, but it was as though they had been glued shut at his command. After a few minutes of his kiss, she could barley breath. He shifted positions making the soft material rub over her exposed skin sparking strange sensations in her body. His lips kissed over her chin and down her neck. She couldn't scream anymore, just simply panted in air as his hands began exploring her hips. He had kissed down between her breasts and was now lapping gently at her belly button. Her hips jerked up, but he pinned them down with a rumbling growl.

"What are you doing," she voiced the thought from her muddled mind.

"Deciding if I want to eat you or not," he replied without hesitation, "If I were you, I'd be still and quiet." He bit her again on her stomach and a shot of want shot between her legs even though at the same time fear was bubbling up her throat for another scream. He reached the edge of her underwear with his lips, but then stopped, which was a good thing despite the fact that her ignorant body protested adamantly. He sniffed her once again on the stomach then had stood in a second. Her eyes were finally able to open and she looked up at him peering down at her. His eyes were glowing again, but this time they were golden. She swallowed nervously and forced herself to wobbly feet. His eyes bore strait through her and she knew exactly what was happening. She stepped towards him and put her hands on his shoulders. Cautiously she pressed her lips to his.

Something snapped. He slammed her into a table full of decorative china and she heard the tinkling of breaking dishes. "Oh," she whimpered when he pressed against her hard.

"Bedroom," he demanded.

"Upstairs."

Five hours later, Dorothea meekly fell back against the pillow of her marriage bed. Leighton had never returned home, no complaints there. The man, or wendigo, was traveling down her body again even though she wasn't quite sure if she could do any more. His lips touched her upper thigh and she exhaled contently. Then, he bit her.

Her eye flew open and she screamed as he literally ripped a chunk of flesh off the inside of her thigh, but not only that. It also felt as though he had injected her with poison; it burned through her system. Her scream reached a new height as he dispassionately held her flailing limbs down. After a few moments her throat clogged and her body began convulsing.

"You'll thank me for this in about nine months," she vaguely heard him say as he licked the wound.

"Mommy?" a little boy's daring voice asked and the wendigo turned towards her son. She could imagine the sight he was seeing: a strange man peering at him from between her thighs with blood dripping from his unnatural teeth.

"Be wary of things you don't understand," the wedigo warned him in a quite fatherly voice. Then she passed out.

When she woke, it didn't feel like anything had happened. Her sheets weren't bloody and she was dressed in one of her own nightgowns, yet it couldn't have been a dream. She wasn't sore anywhere that she was supposed to be if she truly had romped in the sheets all night. She cautiously walked down the stairs. Leighton was drinking coffee and looking hung over in the kitchen, as per usual. He looked up as she entered the room, but she just pursed her lips and ignored him until he had gone back to his drink. She glanced into the hallway and saw nothing different from the morning before; the pieces of china that she had heard breaking were not even chipped and perfectly aligned in a row. She walked over to the table and picked one up.

"Mommy," a voice addressed her warily from the top of the steps.

"Yes, Vernon?" she replied gently. He cautiously walked down the steps to her, but wouldn't take her offered hand.

"I had a bad dream," he told her except something in his voice sounded broken, and that's when she knew for sure. The house was perfect, her body wasn't sore, and the morning was the epitome of normal, but the night before had happened.

"Why don't you go eat breakfast with daddy?" He blinked at her and then went without another word. She climbed the stairs and after locking herself in the bathroom, lifted up her nightgown. A long ragged scar where her flesh had been torn marred her inner thigh although, completely healed. She covered it and took a deep breath.

There was never anything that indicated the night had happened but that scar and, as she would figure out latter, the half wendigo girl growing in her womb.

**AN: So, I don't know if anyone could even understand that, but…**


End file.
